


Sectioning

by Anonymous



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Alpha Kylo Ren, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Daddy Kink, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/M, Kylo Ren is 35, Omega Rey (Star Wars), Patient/Psychologist, Power Imbalance, Rape, Rey is 15, Rey is not a secret omega, Size Kink, borderline nontraditional though, thats half her problem tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:35:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26756617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: All Rey wants is to get emancipation, get through mandatory therapy and get out of town before she hits her first heat.But all Dr Ren wants to do is pull her apart.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 20
Kudos: 151
Collections: Anonymous





	Sectioning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MalevolentReverie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalevolentReverie/gifts).



> Basically during COVID I’ve been reading reylo darkfics like a thirsty Pac-Man and wished there was more of it so thought I’d contribute. Shoutout to the especially prolific MalevolentReverie. Anyway here’s the dark stuff that dances around in this janky brain. 
> 
> Please heed the tags.

Stress hums under my skin.

I bob my foot up and down as the receptionist eyes me over the desk. The magazines in the waiting room look dreary and professional, geared towards economics, or science, or women’s health. All for adults, basically. Professional adults. 

Not a teenager here on a dumb court order. 

“Signed in yet?” The receptionist asks with narrow eyes. 

“Oh,” I say, and I dart up to the desk. “Rey.”

She doesn’t even reply, handing me a clipboard and eyeing my mismatched socks. Or my crusty sneakers on the rug. I give her a smile anyway and plop down in front of the aquarium next to my backpack. The light beams in from huge windows and I can see the fancy part of town outside as I start scrawling through the forms. Let’s get this over with.

When I shove the clipboard back to her, she clicks her tongue and picks up a pen for the questions I skipped.

“Occupation?”

“High school. Student.” I haven’t been in months but I’m still technically enrolled so it isn’t a lie. 

“And…” she drops her gaze down the forms, “blood status?”

I pick at my cuticle, looking at the paintings and giant plants around the room, and debate if I can get away with-

“They should have tested your bloods when you started high school.” She shoots a pointed stare.

“Omega.” I force a smile again. Not like they can even tell at this age, anyway. I’m fifteen and my presentation’s gotta be at least a year away. I hope.

But it’s why I’m in this eerie waiting room. If I was a beta, my social worker would have ignored me skipping school to work at the electronic repairs shop. 

“Take a seat, please,” the receptionist drawls.

Stupid that some member of the public called in a welfare check when I was working. If Unkar had picked up his damn phone, he could have waved them off as world’s laziest foster dad. Instead, I got busted.

It’s not fair. School’s useless compared to money.

I drop back into my seat and stare again at the big fancy aquarium with swishing plants, but something seems off with it. It doesn’t even have fish. That’s weird.

To calm my nerves, I scroll through TikTok with the mute on and bounce my foot up and down. I can’t wait to lie my mouth off and get out of this place. Unkar will be grumpy if I get home too late with dinner. 

“Miss Niima,” says a deep voice from behind me. 

A shade comes over my mood when I turn around. The man standing in the corridor doesn’t _look_ like a psychologist. No _wonder_ this place has high ceilings, he’s so tall it gives me the creeps. He’s got a slant-y face and dark hair that washes his skin out. 

Worse, he’s wearing one of those stupid bracelets that some alphas elect to wear, like an advertisement. As if his big shoulders didn’t hammer that point home. 

Frick. 

I can’t wait to lie to his face and get out of here even _more_ , if that’s possible. 

“Dr Ren,” he reaches out to shake my hand. He nods instead of a smile. I won’t be looking to get a smile out of him. 

“Rey.”

He leads us down a cavernous hallway to his office, where there’s a mezzanine and rugs and even more indoor plants with big leaves. It reminds me of the family courts and lawyer offices - sanitized and so big that it feels like you’re five years old again. Even the paintings look like they’re staring at you.

_Nope nope nope._

If I don’t play my cards right, I’m gonna be stuck squirming in this place weekly at least, and I’d lose half a shift at work. Luckily this is just supposed to be just an assessment. 

He sits and flicks through a pile of papers on his lap. 

“What happened to the fish?” I blurt out. He raises a brow but doesn’t look up, pulling some papers forward. The clock ticks in the background, counting out seconds like a spectator on the sidelines. Great. Now I look stupid. “Your fish tank doesn’t have fish in it.”

Now he looks up and gives me a once over at my jeans and hoodie. I wonder when the last time this office has seen a hoodie. He slowly turns to switch off the air conditioning and returns his attention to me. “Do you know why you’ve been referred to a psychologist’s appointment, Miss Niima?”

I nod. Okay. Gotta be normal. Get this over and done with and stay out back when I’m at work. 

“Yeah. I, um. I skipped school.”

His eyes fix on me for a long moment, then his mouth twitches. 

“Let’s talk about that.”

The minutes fly by. He wanders through questions I’ve chirped answers to a million times before, and I’m pretty much on autopilot. Yes, I feel safe. Yes, I like school and my foster dad. No, I haven’t been doing drugs or drinking. No, no boys in my life. No, I don’t make a habit of skipping school. Total fluke I got caught, it was my first time, I promise. 

“And which of your parents was an alpha?” 

I frown before I can catch it. That one they haven’t asked before. I blink back at him. 

“One of your parents had to be an alpha for you to be an omega,” he continues. I mean, he isn’t wrong, but nobody really asks after my parents and I don’t really know about them either. 

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t?”

“Nope,” I say. “Does… does it even matter, though?”

He lays an arm over the side of his chair without looking up from his notes. “They can tell when changes in their own children are approaching. New omegas can be unruly and find the process difficult on their own.”

“They can just tell?” I stare back at him for a moment before the obvious hits me and I gape. “Alphas smell their _own_ omega children?”

“People breastfeed and bathe their children while raising them as well, Miss Niima.” He stops writing and looks up at me. He has a thin scar along his jaw, I realise. “Is that so unnatural?”

Frick. Where’s sunny, normal Rey? 

“I just never thought of it, that’s all.” I give him a smile but he isn’t looking. The pen scratches across the page. All I want to do is suck back in my comment and swallow it down to my guts. 

“Do you know what happens when you first present?”

“Yeah.” My eyes go to his bracelet. He probably loves it. Howling and whining and wet noises. Begging. I’ve already resolved to scream my head off alone like an idiot in a cabin somewhere when I get out of foster care, asap. “Yeah, I went to health class.”

“It says here that you were moved to your current home after your previous foster parents didn’t make appropriate alternative arrangements during a heat cycle.”

My ears turn pink. Oh, that. They didn’t want to shell out for childcare. I spent the day in the shed trying to salvage a graphics card, and just slept on the floor in a sleeping bag. Social worker was _pissed._

“A loud affair, isn’t it?” He said softly.

“I don’t-“ I stutter. “It’s gross. I don’t want to talk about them.”

He folds his arms and lets out a sigh. He’s so big I swear I can feel the air drift over to me and I press myself back further into the chair. “The fact that you don’t accept the reality of your imminent presentation is a risk to your safety. You need to be able to talk about changes and manage your circumstances. Do you understand why you’re at risk, for someone of your designation?”

”When it’s happening I’ll do everything I need to do.” I nod, and my brain churns through all the stuff my social worker chatters on about. “I’ll get my school forms sorted and the follow-up appointments. I have a plan with my social worker and my foster dad.” 

Brain’s scrambling to add anything else. Gotta look like I agree with this stuff. Just lemme go, okay? I really need to keep my job. 

“What’s more important is how you actually feel about this change.”

My eyes dart to the clock and barely conceal my relief. Less than two minutes to go. The ticking pings off my head like it’s chipping away at me. How do I make him glaze over?

“I feel normal. I’m basically a beta right now. There isn’t any difference between an omega that hasn’t presented and a beta anyway.”

“That isn’t true, of course.” 

“Is so.” I frown. “My health teacher said so.” Everyone says so. 

But he’s already looking down and his pen swoops his signature across a sheet of paper. He folds it and passes it to me. “Your appointment next week is for the same time, Miss Niima. Let your caregiver know that you need bloods taken again.”

I gape like an idiot. I thought this was just an assessment. Every itch in my body wants to demand why I’m going through bloods _again_ and psychologists _again_ but a voice in the back of my head - the one that keeps me a step ahead of Unkar - tells me to shut it and play the long game. He stands like I’m dismissed. My teeth snap shut and I stuff the paper into my backpack, mumbling a thanks and darting to the door as I try to ignore the stupid thumping in my chest. 

“And the tank is an aquascape.” He says behind me. “Not a fish tank.”

I don’t look back. 

* * *

I’m skittering home. It’s late and Unkar’s gonna be mad without dinner so I dart into his favourite takeout on the corner. _Hot Wok._

“Number 16 again?” The woman calls out.

“Uh huh,” I say, and teeter over the bench to count out the change. It’s almost a third of what I made today at the electronics repair shop, which sucks. I buy myself a soda and a family pack of Hershey’s and gobble them down while waiting on the sticky seats. Why not? A lady beside me stares asks where my mom and dad are. I wonder which one of em was the alpha.

Unkar doesn’t even look up when I get home. 

“You’re late.”

“Dinner took a bit. I need to go for bloods again.”

He grunts. “Weekend.” 

“Sure.” I drop him his dinner before chucking my backpack on the bedroom floor and flopping myself on my bed. 

Should have bit my dumb tongue.

Everything’s normal. Everything’s nice. I’m apparently just a horny moron in the waiting, wondering when it’s gonna hit me like a bus.

But the idea of it still just makes me nervous. Maybe it’s the humiliation of begging and being helpless and everyone just _knowing._ I lean down and tug out my money jar from an empty CPU cabinet by my bed, and stuff forty bucks in. 

Money’s important. When I’m seventeen, I want to go for emancipation and age out of care early. Maybe rent a nice lonely cabin where I can upcycle computer parts and be a mindless, panting idiot once every three months in peace and howl at the trees. I don’t know. 

In the meantime, the idea of my first heat is freaking revolting - not to mention having it _here._ My bedroom walls are flaky and thin as cardboard, so the neighbours are gonna hear _everything._ The social worker assessed the suitability of the room and paid to have a lock installed on both sides of the door. It’s the shiniest thing in my room full of dust and scavenged computer parts parked on every surface. 

Unkar’s a beta, most of the reason why I got dumped with him, so he finds the whole thing amusing. Beta men. Go figure.

He still looks at omega porn though. 

I found old magazines under my mattress when I moved in a couple years ago and threw them straight into the trash. Helpless women with ropes of drool hanging from down _there_ , with glazed eyes and flushed faces.

I roll over on my bed and swipe through TikTok in the dark, chewing at the corner of my nail, and my dinner goes cold on the desk.

I don’t want this. I don’t want any of this. 


End file.
